


Poor Decisions

by AbhorrentSelkie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Somnophilia, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25326280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbhorrentSelkie/pseuds/AbhorrentSelkie
Summary: It’s not the first time.It won’t be the last.Miklan’s grip on Glenn’s hair is just the wrong side of painful, sharp and stinging, blunt nails scraping against his scalp. Glenn can feel his braid coming loose under the forceful tugs and huffs out his irritation; he’ll have to redo it before he can return to the party.The party. Miklan had only dragged him down the hall, barely rounding a single corner before shoving him down... They’re close enough that Glenn can still hear the swell of the violins, slow and melodic; can faintly hear the chatter of the gathered aristocrats.They’re close enough that anybody can wander by and see... Goddess, what a scandal that would be.____Glenn hates Miklan, yet he always comes back for more.
Relationships: Glenn Fraldarius/Miklan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

It’s not the first time.

It won’t be the last.

Miklan’s grip on Glenn’s hair is just the wrong side of painful, sharp and stinging, blunt nails scraping against his scalp. Glenn can feel his braid coming loose under the forceful tugs and huffs out his irritation; he’ll have to redo it before he can return to the party.

The party. Miklan had only dragged him down the hall, barely rounding a single corner before shoving him down and beginning to unlace his pants, half-hard already. They’re close enough that Glenn can still hear the swell of the violins, slow and melodic; can faintly hear the chatter of the gathered aristocrats.

They’re close enough that anybody can wander by and see Glenn Fraldarius on his knees, mouth stretched wide and drooling around Miklan Gautier’s cock.

Goddess, what a scandal that would be.

And Goddess, does the thought of it do something for Glenn. He reaches down to palm at the tent in his own trousers, moaning softly as Miklan thrusts lazily into his mouth. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the redhead and he laughs, the smug bastard, a low, gravelly rumble in his chest. He kicks Glenn’s hand away, earning a sharp glare and – oops – a scrape of teeth in retaliation.

The rough tug on his hair that follows has Glenn moaning again. “Careful, Fraldarius,” Miklan scolds, “you sound like a whore, and someone’s going to hear you.” The only answer Glenn _can_ give is yet another moan, and what comes out is a low, desperate thing that he will be ashamed of later. Miklan laughs again. “But maybe you’d like that?”

He pushes farther into Glenn’s mouth, forcing him to take more, inch by inch. Glenn closes his eyes, struggles for a moment to keep breathing through his nose. He doesn’t gag as Miklan sinks to the hilt, buried in Glenn’s throat; he’s done this too many times for that. It doesn’t stop the familiar prickle of tears in his eyes, however, as Miklan’s grip on his hair tightens and he starts fucking his throat properly.

“You look good on your knees, Fraldarius,” Miklan taunts. He never shuts up, especially when Glenn’s mouth is too preoccupied to talk back. “Always such a good little cockslut for me, aren’t you?” Glenn groans. His pants are uncomfortably tight, but even if he tries to give himself some relief, Miklan will just stop him again, the fucker.

“Just imagine if everyone could see you right now,” he continues, breath hitched, a bitter note in his voice. “The prodigy, the king’s lapdog, perfect Glenn fucking Fraldarius, sucking cock like common whore, drooling all over himself.” As if to further prove his point, he swipes a thumb through the saliva dripping down Glenn’s chin and wipes it across his cheekbone. “What do you think your old man would say?” That is a though Glenn would rather not entertain.

“You want to get off?” Glenn moans, hand already reaching for himself… only to get kicked away once again. Miklan’s laugh is almost cruel, and he shifts, pressing his leg in between Glenn’s thighs. Glenn glares up at him. “Go on. You want to get off, don’t you?”

Glenn almost bites him. Almost.

Sometimes Miklan is like this. It isn’t enough that he has Glenn on his knees, it isn’t enough that Glenn is blowing him, it isn’t enough that anyone can catch them. Sometimes, he just has to go that extra mile to humiliate him.

He grinds against Miklan’s leg, already feeling the shame curdling in his stomach.

Miklan, mercifully, stops talking, too focused on taking his pleasure of Glenn. Glenn is too far gone to worry about what he will do about the mess spending in his pants will make. He'd only packed for a short visit, after all, and only had one pair of dress pants. Miklan’s thrusts become erratic, his breaths soft grunts.

Just as Glenn nears the edge, the pressure disappears and he whines pitifully at the loss of it. This seems to push Miklan over, and he holds Glenn’s head still as he spends in his throat. Glenn crinkles his nose at the bitter taste, even as he does his best to swallow it all.

Glenn is panting when Miklan pulls out, tucking himself back into his pants and retying the laces. “What the fuck?” Glenn huffs, dabbing at his chin with his sleeve as he pushes himself up to his feet. His knees ache from the cold tile floor, and he is still painfully hard.

Miklan shoves past him. “Not my fault you took too long,” he dismisses with an unaffected shrug. “Go jack off in the washroom if you're that desperate.”

“Bastard,” Glenn growls after him.

“Slut.” He disappears around the corner, headed back to the party.

Shame and anger and resentment roil in his stomach as he slinks off to the washroom, praying that he not encounter anyone along the way. The goddess is with him, it seems, as he makes it there in peace, locking the door behind him and pulling out his neglected length.

Fucking Miklan. There is genuinely nothing Glenn likes about the prick. He is crude, cruel, and ill-tempered (though, to be fair, Glenn could be all of those things himself). Worse, he mistreats Sylvain, one of Glenn’s closest friends.

Yet, Glenn still ends up fucking Miklan. Whether it’s letting himself get pulled away at a party to suck him off, or Miklan fucking him against the wall of the training hall after a particularly heated training session, or Glenn slipping into his chamber late at night when he and Felix visit Gautier and riding him until he can barely walk back to his own room after, Glenn always seems to end up with Miklan’s dick inside of him.

He barks out a bitter laugh at the absurdity of it, even as he furiously pumps himself, imagining it’s Miklan’s rough hand around him. What the fuck is wrong with him?

It doesn’t take long for Glenn to spend, as pent up as he is. He cleans himself up, fixing his braid without the mirror so he doesn’t have to meet his reflection’s eyes, before deciding it was time to head back to the party. He is sure someone’s noticed his absence already, and he is too busy scrambling for a plausible excuse to notice that someone is blocking the washroom door until he crashes into them.

His apologies die on his tongue as he realizes _who_ he’s crashed into; his father stares down at him, arms crossed, eyes full of what Glenn recognizes as resigned disappointment. “I was wondering where you’ve gotten off to,” the man muses, “when Miklan returned alone.” Glenn purses his lips and waits; either for the old man to say what he so clearly wants to say, or to move. Whichever. Instead, he just sighs, pulling his handkerchief out of his breast pocket. “Just clean your face before you return.”

Glenn stares after him as the old man retreats down the hall, back toward the ballroom. He carefully wipes away the mess that must have been left on his chin with the handkerchief, stowing it in his pocket before he returns.

Miklan has already attached himself to the wall by the time he enters the room, glass of campaign in hand even though Glenn knows he hates the taste of it – but he loves to get drunk, and alcohol is alcohol. He tries to ignore the redhead, even though he can feel his eyes as he mingles through the crowd. Just a few more hours, and he can retreat to his guest chamber and the night can end.

As the night draws to a close and guests start to leave, Miklan ambles his way over, casual as anything. He stops, looking to anyone watching as if he’s simply wishing Glenn a goodnight. He leans in close, his breath hot on Glenn’s ear. “One hour,” he mutters, dark and enticing. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Glenn says nothing, and Miklan retreats from the ballroom alone. His father says nothing to him before they part ways for the night, shutting themselves away in their own rooms. Glenn changes out of his finery and flops onto the large, cushy bed, staring up at the canopy.

Fucking Miklan.

It won’t be the last time.


	2. Chapter 2

The hour comes and goes before Glenn makes up his mind, and it’s closer to an hour and half later by the time Glenn locks Miklan’s door behind him. Miklan is propped up in bed against the headboard, broad chest bare, lazily palming himself through his smalls as he studies a booklet Glenn knows from experience contains lewd illustrations of women in compromising positions. He doesn’t even spare Glenn a glance, idly thumbing to the next page when he speaks. “I almost thought you weren’t going to show, Fraldarius,” he drawls, sounding as if he’s bored. “But, you’re a slut, so of course you’d come.”

“If I’m a slut for fucking you,” Glenn huffs, crossing his arms, haughty and petulant, “what does that make you?”

Miklan just laughs, closing the booklet and tossing it on the nightstand. He fixes Glenn with a hungry, wolfish look and rests his arms behind his head. “You just going to stand there?” Glenn rolls his eyes and starts unbuttoning his shirt. “Give me a nice show, Fraldarius.”

“Bite me.”

“I plan to.”

Glenn’s shirt falls to the floor, not too far from where Miklan’s has been discarded, and he starts unlacing his pants. They fall away, too, pooling around his ankles with his smalls before he steps out of them. Shameless and nude, Glenn nears the bed. This close, he can see the course hair that covers Miklan’s toned chest in the dim flicker of candle light. It’s a couple shades darker than the wild, unkempt locks on his head, matching the hair that trails down from his navel and disappears under the hem of his smalls.

Miklan tosses him a vial of oil plucked from the nightstand. “What,” Glenn scoffs, “can’t be bothered to stretch me yourself?”

Miklan grins. “I asked for a show, didn’t I?” He pats his lap for emphasis.

Rolling his eyes, Glenn crawls across the bed and straddles Miklan’s lap, his back to the obnoxious redhead. “Aren’t you going to get rid of these?” he asks dryly, grinding down on on the bulge in Miklan’s smalls, eliciting a small groan as Miklan’s hands reach out and grip Glenn’s hips roughly. Glenn barely suppresses a shiver at the thought of the bruises he knows will dot his skin for days to come.

“Eventually.”

Glenn busies himself coating his fingers with the oil, leaning forward so Miklan can see the _show_ as he reaches around and presses the first slender finger into his hole. He doesn’t need to look over his shoulder to know the face Miklan is making: his eyes are half-lidded, almost as if he’s bored as he watches Glenn’s finger sink as deep as he can reach; his lips are parted slightly, tongue caught between his teeth. Under him, he can feel Miklan’s cock twitch in interest, hips canting slightly to grind against Glenn’s bare erection.

Glenn adds a second finger, crooking them to strike the spot that has him gasping softly. The hand leaning against Miklan’s thigh, muscular from years training on horseback, clenches tight, nails digging half-moons into his skin. The third finger sinks in easily, and he scissors himself open.

He is unprepared when one of Miklan’s thick fingers, slicked up while Glenn wasn’t paying attention, prods at his rim, teasing. “Fuck,” Glenn hisses as the finger sides in along side his own in a single push, stretching him further. Miklan urges him to pick up his own pace, their fingers fucking his hole in tandem.

Glenn’s knees wobble when Miklan sinks in a second finger, and he grits his teeth to bite back the debauched moans that threaten to escape his lips. Miklan is merciless; Glenn has barely recovered from the stretch when the third finger joins the rest.

Even as long as they’ve been fucking, Miklan’s never done this before. And, fuck, it shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Miklan’s free hand rakes up Glenn’s chest, nails raising angry red lines on his creamy, pale skin. He tweaks a sensitive nipple roughly, almost painfully, and Glenn’s back arches. The moans start to slip free, and Glenn doesn’t care to stop them.

Then Miklan’s fingers retreat and he pulls Glenn’s out with him, leaving his hole clenching around nothing. Before Glenn can say anything, Miklan grabs Glenn around the middle, flipping them around and manhandling Glenn until he’s on his knees, leaning on the headboard for support. Glenn glances over his shoulder as Miklan tugs down his smalls and reaches for the vial of oil.

His cock is big, bigger around than Glenn’s, but not quite as long. The head is flushed and leaking as he coats his length with oil in slow, broad strokes, eyeing Glenn like a piece of meat. Which is basically all he sees Glenn as, anyway. Neither of them have any illusions about the nature of their arrangement. Glenn wants a cock to fuck him. Miklan wants a hole to fuck. The person attached is irrelevant, born out of convenience as opposed to attraction.

That was how it started. Convenience. Two horny teenage boys, not long after Glenn was knighted. A long, charged training session. A bet, suggested by Miklan, of course, because he knows Glenn can’t back down from a challenge: loser sucks the winner off. And, of course, Miklan never makes a bet unless he knows he was going to win, and he never fights fair. Glenn on his knees in the bath house, cheeks flushed at the shame of it. Miklan towering over him, smug and malicious, half-hard cock in hand. Glenn growing hard as his head bobbed, coughing and sputtering when Miklan pushed in farther than Glenn was able to take.

Things progressed from there. And here Glenn was, braced against a headboard in a guest room of some minor Kingdom lord’s estate with Miklan lining up to his entrance, about to get his brains fucked out by the one of the people he hates most in the world.

Miklan is never gentle. He sheaths himself in Glenn in a single, rough thrust that forces the air from Glenn’s lungs, fingertips digging into Glenn’s hips, and doesn’t give him a second to breathe before he starts his brutal pace.

It’s all Glenn can do to keep hold of the headboard. Miklan’s crushing grip keeps his hips in place as he fucks him hard and deep, each thrust striking the sensitive spot inside that makes him see stars. “Fuck,” he breathes, letting his head hang, loose hair falling around his face.

Miklan presses his chest to Glenn’s back, something that might have been tender if it had been literally anyone but Miklan; he does it so he can reach Glenn’s exposed neck, sinking his teeth in where his neck meets his shoulder, nipping and sucking stinging marks into the pale skin and drawing out hisses of pain from Glenn. Pleasure and pain assault him, and Glenn’s moans are positively wrecked.

The mouth leaves his skin an indeterminable amount of time later, and one of Miklan’s hands winds into a fistful of Glenn’s hair, pulling his head back. “Tell me how much you love my cock, slut,” he breathes into Glenn’s ear, nipping hard at his earlobe.

Glenn scoffs, but it comes out as nothing more than a sharp puff of breath. “Don- don’t flatter yourself,” he manages to bite back. “And get… get… some new insults.”

“Bet you could cum, just on my cock.” Glenn grits his teeth as Miklan makes it his mission to prove that point, driving in hard and deeper. “You’re close, aren't you? You clench down real tight when you’re close, you know.”

“Fuck off.”

Miklan clicks his tongue, letting go of Glenn’s hair. He slows, his thrusts going lazy and shallow, no longer hitting Glenn’s prostate. Despite himself, a frustrated whine bubbles in Glenn’s throat as he attempts to grind down on Miklan; his hips are held in place. “Not very polite,” he scolds.

“Stop being a fucking tease,” Glenn grinds out through his clenched teeth.

“Why should I?” Miklan asks dryly. “You should apologize.”

Glenn is glad he’s faced away from Miklan; he is certain his cheeks flame bright red, whether from anger or shame, he’s not quite sure, and he is loathe to give Miklan anything further to taunt him with. “ _Sorry_.”

“That wasn’t very convincing,” Miklan sighs, still rolling his hips slowly. “You can do better, Fraldarius.”

Glenn draws in a deep breath, picturing smacking what he is sure is a smug smirk off Miklan’s dumb face. Later. “I’m sorry. Stop teasing.”

“Beg me.” Glenn groans, debating the pros and cons of just punching Miklan’s face in and calling it a night. “I can get off like this” he continues while Glenn is still weighing his options, “leave you all needy and pathetic. Again. Beg me to fuck you, like you mean it, and I’ll even jerk you off.”

“Please,” he relents, cringing a little at the desperation in his voice, “please fuck me.”

Apparently satisfied at just that little blow to Glenn’s pride, Miklan obliges, picking up where he left off. As promised, his hand wraps around Glenn’s shaft and he strokes him in time with his own thrusts. Glenn squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself be fucked, wrecked moans and broken pleas tumbling out of his lips without his permission.

He spends before Miklan, his seed splattering on the headboard. Miklan grunts as Glenn clenches around him, fucking him through his orgasm before spilling deep inside him. The spreading warmth that fills him is familiar. He hisses as Miklan pulls out, and nearly topples over when he’s left to support his own weight against the headboard.

His legs feel like jelly as he flops face down on the bed, fucked out and buzzing in the post-orgasm high. Miklan has crossed the room already and tosses a damp rag at him, the cloth landing with a wet slap on Glenn’s back. “Clean up your mess and get out.”

Glenn wipes Miklan’s spend from between his legs without shooting back a biting remark, cleans the mess he’s made of the headboard, and tosses the rag on the table. But he doesn’t leave yet. He’s not sure he would make it back to his room on his jelly legs if he tried.

Miklan grunts as he shoves Glenn from the center of the bed and flops down next to him. “Did I say you could stay the night, Fraldarius?”

Glenn flips him off. “Give me a minute, prick.” Miklan snorts, but says nothing, just rolls over to blow out the nub that was left of the candle. Without meaning to, Glenn falls asleep to the sound of Miklan’s snores.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Glenn notices upon waking is the fact that he is still naked, chill morning air raising goosebumps on his skin.

The second is the fact that Miklan is currently working two fingers inside him, leisurely and unhurried. He supposes he should be upset at the fact that Miklan decided to help himself to Glenn’s body while he slept. But, honestly, he can’t say he’s particularly surprised. Miklan had never really asked permission before, and Glenn had never really stopped him from taking what he wanted.

Instead, Glenn sighs, head laying cradled in his arms as he lets Miklan stretch him open. He’d already spent the night in the guy’s bed. What’s another quick fuck before sneaking back to his own room?

“You could have woke me up first, asshole,” he grumbles sleepily.

Miklan laughs, crooking his fingers to strike the spot that has Glenn groaning into his arms. “As if your whore ass would have said no anyway.” Glenn cants his hips slightly, seeking more pressure, but Miklan decides to be a dick and refuses to give it. “Just saving time.”

His fingers withdraw a moment later, apparently deeming Glenn prepped enough. Glenn can hear the tell-tale sound of Miklan slicking himself up. A moment later he nudges Glenn’s legs apart, climbs over him, and lines himself up. Glenn sighs as Miklan fully sheaths himself in a single push. His arms bracket Glenn’s head, and Glenn can feel the heat of him draped over his back like a blanket.

Miklan starts rolling his hips in lazy, languid thrusts. Glenn closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the feeling of being stretched wide and filled deep, still tender from the night before. It’s not gentle, per se, each thrust grinding into his prostate while Miklan nips and sucks at Glenn’s bare shoulders and exposed neck. Glenn’s own cock twitches in interest as it rubs against the sheets with Miklan’s motions.

“You take me so good,” Miklan growls into his ear, almost possessive. “Made for my cock, weren’t you, bitch?”

Glenn snorts. “You’re not _that_ good. And I take you _well_.”

“If I’m not that good, why do you always come back for more?”

“Convenience.”

Miklan laughs. His pace is still unhurried, voice only slightly hitched. “So, what, you’re so desperate, you’d let anyone with a fat cock have their way with you?” Glenn doesn’t dignify that with a response. “No, we both know that’s bullshit.”

“Think what you want.”

“You’ll be on your knees for me right up til the day you get married off to that Galatea bitch.” He laughs like he’s said the funniest thing ever. “Now, there’s a thought.”

Glenn huffs in irritation. “Would you maybe _not_ talk about Ingrid while you’re fucking me?” It is a reminder Glenn doesn’t want, the one sour note in his otherwise bright future, forever being tied to a woman he knows he will never truly love for the sake of bearing children to carry on the Fraldarius name and Crest all because it is his duty to do so.

“What, does it make you feel guilty about cheating on your little fiancee?”

“Fuck off.” He clenches hard around Miklan, drawing out a long, long groan and making his hips stutter a little. Miklan retaliates by biting down hard on his shoulder, and Glenn hissed at the sharp pain of it.

“Just admit it,” Miklan continues “you could take a hundred cocks up your ass, and none of them will feel as good as mine.”

“You’ve got an awfully high opinion of yourself,” Glenn laughs.

“But it’s true. You know why?”

Glenn takes the bait. “Why?”

Miklan grabs a fistful of Glenn’s hair, pulling hard and forcing Glenn’s head back. His breath is hot in Glenn’s ear. “Because you hate me,” he growls. “You hate me, and you hate that you love getting fucked by me, and that’s what makes it good. No matter who you fuck, you won’t hate them half as much as you hate me.”

Glenn swallows hard because he knows Miklan is right. The thought sends a shudder down hi’s spine. Miklan thrusts hard and slow inside him once, twice, three more times, and he spends. Warmth spreads in Glenn’s belly as Miklan pants over him.

And, surprise, surprise, Glenn is left hard and wanting, hips grinding against the sheets when Miklan pulls out, his seed trickling out after him. Miklan flops down, and to Glenn’s surprise, he doesn’t immediately bark at Glenn to leave, like he usually does. Instead, Glenn can feel a single, thick finger swipe through the spend that’s dripping down from his abused hole. Before Glenn can question what he’s doing, two fingers sink inside, and Miklan lazily fucks his spend back into Glenn. “You’re disgusting,” Glenn huffs, making no move to stop him.

“Don’t see you complaining.”

A moment later, a pounding on the door makes Glenn start. “Miklan,” the familiar, low voice of Margrave Gautier calls through the door.

Miklan’s fingers don’t still; he continues what he’s doing, apparently unconcerned by his father standing on the other side of the door. “What?”

“We’ve been invited to breakfast by our host,” the margrave calls, curt and stern. “Have your bag packed and be in the dining room in half an hour. We’re leaving immediately after breakfast.” There is no room in his father’s tone for argument.

“Yeah, yeah.” His father says no more, and Glenn assumes he’s left. “Turn over,” Miklan barks, pulling his fingers out and wiping the mess on the back of Glenn’s thigh. Rolling his eyes, Glenn does as he is asked, more out of curiosity than anything. His erection bobs up, flushed and leaking, a clear bead welling up at the slit and rolling down the shaft.

Glenn gasps as Miklan’s lips wrap around his length and takes him to the base, and he bucks slightly into the heat of Miklan’s mouth. This is rewarded with a bruising hand on his hip, holding him tight in place.

Miklan doesn’t use his mouth of Glenn often. Most often, he either strokes Glenn to completion or leaves him to deal with his need himself, concerned very little with Glenn’s pleasure. In the rare instances he does take it upon himself to pleasure him, it’s an unpracticed, toothy thing that toes the line of being too painful.

Glenn watches as his head bobs up and down, brows furrowed and eyes tight shut. He resists the urge to wind a hand through Miklan’s fiery hair, to hold his cock deep in his throat; Miklan will stop if he tries.

Though he gives Miklan no warning more than small gasps and soft moans that he is nearing the edge, Miklan knows him well enough to tell anyway. He pulls off just before Glenn spends, a string of saliva connecting his lip to the head of Glenn’s dick for a second before it snaps. A large, rough hand wraps around him; he pumps only a few more times before Glenn is spending over his fist with a chorus of soft _fuck_ s falling from his lips.

Miklan gives him only a moment to breath. “Now, get the fuck out, Fraldarius.”

Glenn does so gladly, cleaning himself off with a fresh rag from the washbasin and hastily pulling on his discarded clothes. He, thankfully, passes no one on the shameful walk back to his own room. Glenn is changing into fresh clothes when someone knocks on his own door. “Just a moment,” he calls back, hastily tying his trousers. He is still buttoning his shirt in front of the mirror when he calls for his visitor to enter.

His father steps in a moment later, silent and judgmental. The old man’s eyes dart between Glenn, with dark bags under his eyes, and his un-slept in bed; he sighs. His father had learned about Glenn’s trysts with Miklan almost a year before, though the exact nature of it still eludes him as Glenn has never deigned to get into the details. To say he disapproves is an understatement, though he’s mostly resigned to the fact that it is going to happen whether he likes it or not. But, as it does not interfere with Glenn’s responsibilities, he’s mostly given up trying to stop it.

“Our host has graciously invited us to stay for breakfast,” his father explains, though Glenn has already heard.

“Alright.”

His father opens and closes his mouth a few times, but ultimately decides not to say what is on his mind. “Breakfast begins in fifteen minutes,” he says instead. “Do you have a shirt with a higher collar?”

“Yes.”

“Wear it.” His father leaves him then, and Glenn changes into the shirt with the higher collar, craning in the mirror to see the faint bruise on the side of his neck that the other shirt could not have hidden.

Breakfast is a quiet affair of forced small talk that Glenn has little interest in. Miklan stays silent, tearing into the food like he’s starving. Felix and Sylvain plop themselves on either side of Glenn, as expected, the younger boys both vying for his attention.

They prepare to leave right after they part from their host, each family climbing into their respective carriages to make the journey home. Glenn catches Miklan’s eye before they enter, the older man flashing a lecherous grin and a promising wink.

Glenn rolls his eyes. Fucking Miklan.

...

It was the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I just write PWP now? I don't know how I got here, but here I fucking am.


End file.
